


Decommissioned

by foxysquid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain Shiro (Voltron), Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Holography, Identity Issues, Imprisonment, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, POV Shiro (Voltron), Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: The war may be over, but there's no end in sight to the work that still needs to be done. Shiro is left with lingering questions, but he remembers one person who might be able to answer a few of them—Shiro decides to restart the hologram of Sendak, to see if that can help him put old ghosts to rest. The result of his experiment is completely unexpected. And soon becomes entirely too complicated.





	1. Requisition

There was absolutely no reason for Shiro to care about this. He knew it. Anyone else would have shared that sentiment, and would have told him as much, if he had mentioned his idea to anyone else. It wasn't that he was keeping it to himself. It was that it hadn't come up. No one had asked him about this issue, and why would they? It wasn't high on anyone's list of priorities, including his. It didn't _matter_ , but it had occurred to him, and once it had occurred to him, the thought had taken up residence in his head, insisting on itself.

He was curious, but he was wary of giving in to a curiosity that could only hurt him. He should try to forget. The war was over, and maybe Shiro should put it out of his mind and move on into another, new world—a brighter place, in which the shadows and battles would eventually fade away into nothingness, or something like it. He wanted that bright world, but was the other world part of him too? The hunger and aching in the dark, and all the unremembered strikes, delivered and received. When he looked at his face, he had to admit that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten that scar. He couldn't remember how he'd lost his arm—had that happened in a battle, or had they surgically removed it to replace it with a "newer model"? Questions remained. Dreams remained, fears and uncertainties surfacing in the middle of the night. As it turned out, he couldn't pass so easily from one world into the next.

If he could answer his lingering questions, it might help him put those dreams to rest.

The war was over, but there was still much work to be done. The garrison bustled with activity. In some ways, dealing with the aftermath of war was as labor-intensive as the war itself. It felt chaotic at time, but every move had to be recorded and checked, especially as equipment was transferred, repurposed, or disassembled. 

Shiro made a habit of checking the inventories, even though that was not his duty. At first, when he couldn't find what he was looking for, he suspected he was too late and it had been destroyed, but no, it continued to exist, filed under an unexpected title and code. Categorizing it must have been a puzzle. It was an odd thing, without a purpose now, but not without interest. It had apparently been unusual enough to keep, rather than dispose of. 

Since Shiro was the Captain of the Atlas, no one questioned him when he requisitioned it. It had no obvious military use now. No one would miss it, and if they did, he'd left a record of what he'd done with it, so they could ask him about it. He wasn't sure he had a satisfactory explanation for what he was going to do, but they could ask, and he'd make an attempt to answer. While Shiro didn't usually perform science experiments, there was nothing to say that he _couldn't_.

Once the machinery was arranged on the desk in the office, Shiro paused to seriously question himself. He had two major problems: one, he wasn't certain how to work the device; and two, he wasn't convinced this was a wise idea. He had to ask himself, honestly: was he being irrational? He didn't _feel_ irrational. Then again, he could hardly just hook the device up to a power source and hope it worked. He needed help.

"Are you sure about this, Shiro?" Pidge peered down at the roughly circular arrangement skeptically.

"You don't think it'll work?"

"Oh, it's going to work, but—" She looked up suddenly, her gaze meeting his. "Why? Why do you want to turn it on?"

"There's something I want to know." He wasn't trying to be vague, but his goals were difficult to articulate when his own understanding of them was oblique. "About what happened before."

"Before—?" asked Pidge, and then her eyebrows rose and she nodded, already glancing down again to fiddle with the setup spread out before her. "Oh, you mean _before_ before." At times, Pidge had a refreshing way of not prying into personal details. As her own explanation seemed to satisfy her for now, she went on: "It might not provide you with what you're looking for. I don't know how extensive the scan was. I don't think it was intended to be used for this purpose. For basic information, fine, but anything more in depth—I don't know. No one's made an intensive study of it yet, because there hasn't been time. There could even be glitches or gaps—"

Shiro was appreciative of Pidge's help. He didn't want to interrupt her, but he found himself asking, "It's not—dangerous, though?" Logically, he knew it wasn't, but the question slipped out unbidden.

"Dangerous? No, it's just data. Not that data can't be dangerous, but the program isn't capable of generating anything other than auditory output with corresponding visuals. It can't access the network or anything like that. It's entirely safe."

Though he had already known that, her confirmation calmed him. This was a simple exploration of an issue that was bothering him. He would look into it, and if he was lucky, he would find some relief.

"There, that should do it." Pidge pointed down at the configuration. "All you need to do is press here, here, and then here, and it'll start right up." She hesitated. "Do you want me to go? Because I can go."

Shiro realized he had been staring at the equipment on the desk. "What?" Oh. Right. Would it be weird if I asked you to go?"

"Maybe," said Pidge, "but not really. So I'm going to say no."

For a second time, he appreciated her failure to pry. She must have sensed that this was a personal matter. She left without protest or any visible worry in her expression. A wave of her hand, and she was out the door. Shiro thought she might have understood.

Pidge's simple instructions had been clear, and Shiro was a fast learner. Following a few quick movements of his hands, the hologram flared to life. No, not life. It wasn't alive. It was light, programmed with data. It was completely harmless, as Pidge had said, but Shiro shuddered when he saw it. The tall, dark figure with its smooth armor and rough fur. Its eyes gleamed as it stared straight ahead: the narrow, golden eye on one side, and the round, red prosthetic on the other. Both eyes glowed, faintly. Shiro was frozen. His limbs felt strangely heavy and immobile, even his mechanical arm. _Not dangerous,_ he reminded himself. It wasn't really Sendak. Sendak was dead, and this wasn't even his ghost. If he had one of those, it was somewhere else.

Shiro stood in silence, and the hologram was silent too, for so long that Shiro wondered if it would speak without being spoken to. Until the deep voice sounded. "Have you come to gloat?"

Shiro tensed. He hadn't expected a question like that, because it suggested a personality rather than data. It suggested knowledge that this Sendak couldn't have. He swallowed. His voice, when he spoke, was steady. "Is that what you would do in my situation, gloat?"

"When I defeat an enemy, there is no one left to hear me gloat."

"I'm sure that's true," said Shiro, "but I haven't brought you here for that. We hay have won, but I have no interest in gloating."

Shiro waited for a response, but Sendak had fallen silent again. He continued to stare ahead at the wall. He hadn't so much as glanced at Shiro once. Shiro had good reason to believe he was being ignored. "Do you recognize me?" he asked.

Sendak said nothing. Shiro was being stonewalled by a hologram. This was not what he'd had in mind, although he hadn't exactly been expecting this to go well. The hologram had responded to queries the last time it was activated. Maybe he wasn't being direct enough, or wasn't asking the right questions. He wasn't speaking about warfare and strategy. Asking about himself could have been beyond the limits of the program. 

That didn't mean Shiro was ready to give up. He tried another tactic. "I could easily gloat, if I wanted to. Do you know what we managed to do? We defeated you in battle. We destroyed your fleet, and we were victorious over the Galra Empire. How does that make you feel?" Were feelings within Sendak's programming? Shiro could have asked Pidge more questions about this program, but not even Pidge didn't understood all that Altean technology was capable of.

"The Galra Empire cannot be defeated," said Sendak.

Good, that was a response. "But it was. By us." He was simplifying events, but giving an accurate, detailed account to Sendak's hologram wasn't his intent. He wanted a reaction. Shiro usually wasn't one to goad people, but this wasn't an actual person, and perhaps there was no better way to get through to Sendak. 

"I don't believe your words," said Sendak. "Lies come easily to the weak."

"Do you recognize me?" Shiro asked again.

"I can't tell you primitives apart."

The initial shudder Shiro had experienced upon seeing Sendak hadn't subsided. An old, cold fear had crept out of wherever it had been hidden away. He questioned his wisdom in going through with this, but he wasn't ready to abandon the process yet. He turned away from Sendak. Sendak wasn't the only one who could stare at a wall.

"You should never turn your back on an enemy," said Sendak.

It made sense that Sendak wouldn't care for being discounted. Shiro folded his arms and didn't turn back to look at him. "Don't you understand? You're not my enemy anymore. You're gone, along with the Empire as you knew it." As this impression of Sendak's memories had been taken even before their initial defeat of Zarkon, there was so much it couldn't know. "You're dead, and the Empire is dead. Even the Emperor."

There was a long pause. Shiro wondered if he was being shut out again, when a voice rang out that completely surprised him. "What—? You take that back! You can't say that about the Emperor." Shiro started, because the voice didn't sound like Sendak. Not exactly. It was younger and louder and stubbornly brash. Now Shiro did turn back, but Sendak appeared no different than before: standing at attention, his expression grim but unemotional.

"Excuse me?" asked Shiro, because he didn't know what else to say. He wasn't sure what had happened. "What did you just say?"

Sendak might as well have been a statue, for all he responded to this, and now Shiro was confused in addition to being uneasy. He needed to stop this, if not permanently, at least temporarily, for his own mental health. He approached the device, with the intention of turning it off, when Sendak suddenly said, " _Champion._ " There was something about the word that felt—personal.

Shiro's entire body felt heavy again, as if he'd been turned to stone. "Why—do you know so much about me?" Shiro asked.

Infuriatingly, Sendak had sunk into silence yet again. Shiro probably should have turned him off at this point, but now he was agitated, by that brief, almost taunting acknowledgement of him as an individual. Remembering the outburst he had inspired before, he said, clearly and slowly, so that there could be no mistaking his meaning or his sincerity, "Emperor Zarkon is dead. He was defeated in battle."

At these words, Shiro was faced with the oddest thing he had seen yet in the course of this extraordinarily strange encounter. The image of Sendak lurched to one side, distorting into an almost unrecognizable grid of light and color with a faint Sendak-shaped overlay. Then it jerked back into place. When it resolved itself, it was identifiably Sendak, but it was a Sendak Shiro had never seen before. Gone were the prosthetic eye and limb. He was wearing armor, but it was of a completely different style. Most shockingly, his face was young. Shiro knew that Sendak must have been young once, but he wouldn't have been able to envision him that way, even if he'd made an attempt. Sendak's eyes, now with visible irises, were shining with anger. His ears were pressed back, flat against his skull, with an unfamiliar expressiveness. "I told you, don't speak of Emperor Zarkon in such a disrespectful manner. You don't have the right."

Shiro took a step back. This was not what he had been wanting or hoping to find. He had seen Zarkon freed from corruption, but Sendak, in death, had seemed beyond such healing.

"Who are you?" asked Sendak, "that you think you can speak that way?" Unlike the other, older Sendak, this one was very active, turning this way and that, his ears flicking in irritation. "And where am I?" Wordless, Shiro watched as Sendak raised a hand and reached out, as if to feel for a barrier he couldn't see. He strained forward, as if trying to take a step, but he couldn't walk. The program wasn't designed to allow motion of that kind. This Sendak looked directly at Shiro, eyes narrowing in a glare. "Are you keeping me prisoner?"

Shiro felt sick. He had been thinking of this Sendak program as a recording of some of Sendak's memories, but somehow, his past self was in there as well. The idea of a person trapped in the form of a hologram and unaware of that fact was distressing, even if Shiro had been at odds with the older Sendak in the past. 

"No, I'm not," said Shiro. He had no idea what he was doing, but damage control was needed. He thought quickly. He couldn't tell him the truth. How could he begin to explain that? "You're being treated for a medical condition."

"Medical—? What happened? I don't remember any battle." Sendak narrowed his eyes. "Why should I believe someone who spoke that way about the emperor?"

Once Shiro had begun to lie, he had to come up with a second lie. "I apologize for my disrespect, but it was necessary for me to shock you into awareness somehow. You're being held in stasis, but I can interface with your consciousness through this device." Was what he was saying making any sense? He was grasping at lies, hoping that they would, by some magic, form a coherent whole.

"What are you—some kind of doctor?"

"Not exactly. I'm a captain."

Sendak perked up at the mention of a rank. "Captain. What happened to me, Captain?" 

How was he so young? Considering that he was a Galra, he was probably older than Shiro, even at this age, but compared to the Sendak Shiro was more familiar with, he radiated youthfulness. "As you say, there was a battle. You were injured. You're being treated now." Shiro felt guilty, because there was no way Sendak's injuries could ever be treated, but he wanted to spare this version of him the distress of the truth. He couldn't tell him that both he and the Emperor were dead. That would be too cruel.

"I don't remember you at all." Sendak had not been convinced so easily. "What species are you?"

"It's expected that you would have some difficulty with your memories. I'm a human. We're allies of the Galra." That part was technically true, now. 

"Fine, Captain, I'll believe you for now. It doesn't look like I have any choice." Sendak renewed his attempt to push at whatever was holding him back and move forward, not ready to accept that he was incapable of breaking free of it.

"I'm glad I was able to make contact with you," said Shiro, unsure whether he was actually glad. "I'll let you rest again." His hand was shaking slightly as he reached out to turn off the device.

"Wait—" Sendak began, before he blinked out of existence.

Shiro was breathing hard. It wasn't that he had wanted to get rid of the young Sendak, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep up his lies and his calm in the midst of that unexpected onslaught of feeling and unfamiliarity. How had his experiment taken this turn? Pidge had spoken of glitches and gaps, but this transformation felt far more extensive than the possible problems she had alluded to. Was the program that corrupted, or was it something else? Had the power that had restored Zarkon and Altea somehow touched this assemblage of data as well? Shiro didn't know enough about such things, and it was possible that no one else knew enough to help him with this. He found himself standing on unfamiliar terrain again. He hadn't meant to take on another mission, but he had no choice. He had to go forward.


	2. Rehabilitation

"Are you really just—taking that?" Pidge asked. She hovered around Shiro as he filled out the necessary paperwork. She didn't seem to be judging his actions. Instead, she was extremely curious and moderately confused.

"I'm removing this equipment from service, yes. It has no further military purpose." 

"And you're taking it home."

Pidge was simplifying the issue, but there was nothing about her statement he could disagree with. "I asked, and no one said that I couldn't."

"That's because you're Takashi Shirogane."

"If that's why they're letting me take it, who am I to second guess them?" 

"Like I said, you're Takashi Shirogane."

"Very funny, Pidge. You can stop saying my name that way." Not only was she overemphasizing each syllable exaggeratedly, but she rarely called him by his full name like that. Not that she wasn't right. Filling out the paperwork was a necessary concession to military bureaucracy, but his superiors had basically let him take this technology, because he'd asked for it.

"I'm honestly interested in what you intend to do with it."

"You know, I don't really know yet." He had ideas, but their success or failure would be dependent on a number of different factors. As of this moment, he couldn't be sure himself of what he was going to do. "Consider it a memento." 

"Fun choice of mementos," she said, dryly. "All right, Shiro, if you want to keep on being vague and mysterious, I won't stop you. But if you need any help with that, let me know. I'm always looking for something new to work on. Or something old to fix up. That would—probably qualify as both."

"I knew I could count on you, Pidge."

"Of course. Always."

Shiro had quarters on Garrison grounds, as well as his own apartment in the city. He spent the majority of his time at the Garrison, and he had immediately decided against taking such specialized equipment off of Garrison grounds. Although Pidge had said he was taking it "home", that wasn't far at all. Transferring the equipment the short distance from his office to his living quarters was mostly symbolic, but knowing what he knew now, he couldn't leave the hologram in an office. The device should be solely his responsibility, in his charge. 

Pidge helped Shiro set up the device in his quarters, but thankfully didn't ask him too many more questions. Shiro was questioning his own sanity—again. This thing was now in his personal residence, staying with him indefinitely. He hadn't intended to let his experiment go this far. He'd wanted to learn more about the experiences in the arena that he couldn't remember—that year of fragmented memory. Now he had a new—appliance? Roommate? No, neither of those terms were close to accurate. He didn't know how to think of the new arrival, because there was no everyday equivalent to what he was doing.

Shiro's military quarters were expansive, in keeping with his rank and experience, and he had set aside an entire room for the new equipment. He'd bought a broad, sturdy table to hold the holographic projector. He hadn't had any other plans for this room. He had so much space that didn't feel truly moved into, because he hadn't added anything to it. There was an emptiness surrounding him, and he hadn't decided how to fill it. The rooms were his, but contained few possessions, other than what was necessary. He'd been too busy to add many personal touches. There were no windows in the room Shiro had chosen for his project, but when the lights were on, it was bright enough. The walls were crisp and white. He had even decorated one of them with a framed poster of early spaceship designs. 

Shiro could have turned the equipment on as soon as Pidge left, but he waited. A few days passed. His sleep grew restless. His fears had never completely disappeared, but some of them were creeping back into his mind, taking up more space in his subconscious. His unrest wasn't the worst it had ever been, but it was markedly worsening. He woke up once or twice each night. He must have had dreams, but he couldn't remember them. The restlessness was concerning, but not so troubling that he decided to change course. He reminded himself that a path to recovery wasn't a straight, ascending line. Instead of a clearly mapped journey from point A to B, it could have setbacks. Surprises. The way to improvement could lead him through what felt like a decline. He had to be patient with himself and accept that none of this was going to be simple. Sometimes, it was easier to be patient with someone else than with himself.

Even someone like Sendak.

When Shiro was ready to turn the device on again, he had no idea which Sendak he was going to see, at first. He held his breath. To his relief, the image resolved at once into the surprisingly young and defiantly purple Sendak he had seen last. Shiro exhaled. The younger Sendak wasn't exactly a friendly face, but he was much friendlier than the alternative.

"—I'm not ready to go back—!" Sendak snapped, obviously in the midst of what he had been saying when Shiro had turned him off before. He broke off quickly, blinked, and frowned. "Wait. I'm somewhere else now."

"Hello again." Shiro smiled at him. A friendly greeting might be helpful in this situation. "You're right. This is a rehabilitation center."

"Rehabilitation? So I'm getting better?"

"I'm not authorized to comment on your medical condition." Shiro had had some time to think over his lies this time. He offered them more readily, not that he had ever been or ever would be a confident liar. He didn't enjoy lying, especially to someone who had done him no harm, like this young Galra officer.

"Of course, Captain. I am looking forward to returning to fighting form!" He saluted, then paused. "Wait. Why are you here, if you're not a physician?"

"As we're well-acquainted, I consider you my personal responsibility."

"You know me, then?" Sendak made a thoughtful noise, a half-snort. He didn't look entirely convinced, and Shiro didn't entirely blame him. His suspicion was understandable. It wasn't as if the Galra military was known for its trusting soldiers, and Shiro had no proof of anything he was saying. He did not expect Sendak to be credulous, even in this altered state. The Sendak Shiro had encountered in battle may have been violent, brutal, ruthless, and overconfident, but for all that, he had not been stupid. This Sendak had no concrete reason to distrust Shiro, but he had no reason to trust him, either. Finally, he said, "I must have forgotten a great deal."

This was an understatement, but Shiro kept his expression neutral. "You have."

"Well, do you think it will come back to me?"

Although he was being respectful while addressing an officer, Sendak couldn't keep a faintly demanding note from creeping into his voice. Shiro wouldn't allow himself to smile at this. "As I said, I can't comment on that."

"Yes, Captain. I hope that I will remember more soon. Can you tell me—even though I was injured, did I fight well?"

"Very well," said Shiro, and he could say this without needing to bend the truth. "I've rarely seen such a skilled warrior in battle."

Sendak beamed, in spite of himself. "Thank you, Captain. I hope the Emperor was proud."

"I don't like to speak for the Emperor, but I would say that he was." About this fact, Shiro was less sure, but he wasn't going to disappoint Sendak when the Galra had that hopeful look on his face. 

"You won't be insulting him again," Sendak said, a little less respectfully than before. These words almost had the sound of an order.

"The Emperor? No. I apologize for my previous disrespect. That was a drastic measure."

Sendak nodded, but Shiro could tell that he was far from being completely convinced, still evaluating the situation. Shiro could only explain away so much. "Since you've been transferred, I'll be able to spend some more time with you. Would you mind me keeping you company?"

"I don't object, Captain."

"What would you prefer that I call you?"

"Lieutenant Sendak will suffice."

A rank. Of course. The lieutenant had not yet been promoted. "Lieutenant Sendak. I am Captain Shiro." He could have said _Shirogane_ , but for whatever reason, he gave Sendak his nickname along with his title, instead.

"Captain Shiro—may I ask a question?"

Sendak had already asked a number of questions without asking permission to do so beforehand, but Shiro didn't point this out. "You may, Lieutenant."

"Why am I here? This isn't a Galra facility. And if you are a captain, you must have duties to attend to. So why are you here?"

Shiro understood. Sendak had wanted to ask permission before asking his suspicious questions. Shiro couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he looked into Sendak's eyes, as he reminded himself that this person was dead. Although Shiro hadn't killed him with his own hand, he had been instrumental in his death. "This was the best place for you, both close and convenient. Also, I'm not on combat duty." Again, he was keeping as close to the truth as possible, which was the best policy.

"What duty are you on?"

"We were victorious in our battle, and the war is over. I have a range of other tasks to perform—support and humanitarian dutes. Lately, I've been dedicating much of my time to working with wounded soldiers." The war was over, but in many ways, it lingered, and would continue to linger, for a long time to come. So many people, civilians and soldiers, had been seriously injured—physically and mentally. Shiro wanted to do as much as he could to help. It wasn't his only duty, but it was one that meant a great deal to him. He had lost so much in the war—far more than a limb. There were things that he had gained, as well, but they could never negate the losses.

"Such as myself," said Sendak, slowly. His reluctance to admit to having been injured could be heard clearly in his voice.

"Such as yourself," Shiro agreed. In its own strange way, this was an extension of his work, wasn't it? Another kind of rehabilitation. 

Now Sendak was subjecting him to an intense examination, narrowing his eyes. "You are Human, you said. What planet are you from?"

"Our planet is called Earth." Earth, which Sendak had done his best to conquer, which he had ravaged and might have destroyed, if his plans had succeeded.

"Earth. Is that where I am?"

"It is."

Sendak's ears were swiveling again. Now he was scanning the entire room with his intense gaze. Shiro wondered what kind of sensory input he was receiving. Obviously, he could see and hear, but how keenly, and what about his other senses? Shiro didn't ask him. He let him take his time exploring his surroundings in whatever way he could. Watching him, Shiro couldn't help but be reminded of one of his childhood cats, bravely facing the ordeal of being moved to a new house. He tried to suppress the image. That was not an appropriate thought to have.

"What's that picture?" Sendak asked at last.

Shiro turned and saw that Sendak was looking at Shiro's one attempt to decorate this room: the space travel poster hanging on the far wall. It showed a series of drawings of Earth's earliest spacecraft. The poster didn't have any particular sentimental value. It was a souvenir Shiro had picked up at the Air and Space Museum. He'd liked the look of the design sketches, that was all. "Those are some of our spacecraft—old models. Our very first."

"They're very unlike the first Galra craft."

"I don't know a lot about the history of Galra spaceflight." From what Shiro understood, much of early Galra history had been lost in the millennia of Zarkon's reign—those facts which had been deemed unimportant or out of keeping with the philosophy of the new Galra regime had been erased. Shiro had no idea if records of early spacecraft remained.

"If you're interested in such things, I could show you, but—" Sendak's brief shrug somehow encapsulated his entire odd situation in a single, eloquent gesture. He was calmer now, Shiro could tell. He was not at ease, but he was more in control.

"I am interested, as a matter of fact." Shiro wondered how much information about the old empire was contained within Sendak's data. It hit him then, how impossibly old Sendak was. He was older than human civilizations. When he had been born, recorded history had not yet been invented on Earth, yet now he was a part of contemporary Earth history. Shiro could barely conceive of the sheer weight and force of the time that had passed between when Sendak had actually been this age and when Shiro had first encountered him. "Maybe you can show me sometime."

"Perhaps I will."

This was the first relatively normal conversation he had ever had with Sendak. Yes, the situation was strange, but Sendak wasn't insulting him, threatening to kill him, or threatening to destroy his planet. It was relatively pleasant. Shiro had not previously thought to conceive of an idea of what Sendak had been like before the Empire had fallen into corruption under Zarkon. He had an idea of Zarkon's initial nature, before the quintessence had poisoned him, but as for Sendak—no one had mentioned his past, and it hadn't seemed relevant. As someone with strong ties to the emperor, Sendak would have been exposed to the same substances, the same poison, but Shiro had never seriously considered the original person and personality of Sendak, as it had existed before the Rift and the disasters it had wrought. 

What would Sendak have been like, if he had been allowed to age and develop normally? An excellent officer, definitely. Loyal—probably to a fault—and driven. An ideal Galra soldier, without the cruelty and hatred of other species. It wasn't that Shiro thought Sendak bore no responsibility for the crimes he had committed, but now he could imagine that in many other universes, Sendak must have lived an admirable life. In those universes, Sendak would also have died thousands of years before Shiro was born. The odds of them meeting had been slim in any universe, yet here they were.

Sendak was watching him again. They were watching each other. They were wary, but not adversaries. "What's the last thing you remember?" Shiro asked him. "Before you woke up with me."

"I'm not going to tell you anything that might compromise the security of the Empire."

"I'm not asking you to. Just tell me what you can. I won't ask for more than that."

Sendak inclined his head. "I was speaking with the Emperor about a matter of some importance."

_Some importance_ might have meant anything, but Shiro had said he wasn't going to pry, and he didn't. "I know you have a close association with Emperor Zarkon."

For a moment, Sendak, eyes narrowing, looked as if he was about to say something else about Shiro's previous disrespect toward Zarkon, but he did not. "The Emperor has been a great leader and a valued mentor. I am honored by the gift of his time and attention."

"The Emperor is fortunate to have such a fine soldier in his service." Shiro wanted to know more about why and how Zarkon had become Sendak's mentor—had that kind of mentorship been a common practice?— but he assumed that would be considered prying. They weren't on personal terms, but Shiro surprised himself by wishing they could get to know each other better.

"I do—remember you," Sendak blurted.

Shiro blinked. He took a moment to collect himself before responding. That wasn't the most reassuring comment, considering all the reasons Sendak might remember him. "Do you?"

"Yes. I didn't, at first, but now—" Sendak halted, then shook his head, as if clearing it. "Suddenly, I thought, you look familiar, somehow. Your face. But I don't remember—anything else. Your hair..." Sendak trailed off. He looked as perplexed as Shiro felt, as if he saw his failure to remember more as a personal shortcoming.

"My hair has changed relatively recently." That wasn't the most helpful comment, but Shiro's web of lies was starting to feel strained, and he wasn't sure how to safely deal with this turn in the conversation.

Sendak's gaze drifted to Shiro's prosthetic arm, but Sendak made no comment on it, and Shiro didn't see a reason to draw attention to it himself. Did Sendak find that familiar, too? He wouldn't know this arm so well as its predecessor, but he had seen it, at the end. Shiro sensed he was being evaluated again. "You strike me as a battle-hardened warrior," Sendak concluded.

That almost sounded like a Galra compliment.

"I don't know why I can't remember," said Sendak. "There must have been—" His sentence was abruptly cut off.

The transformation was almost instantaneous, this time. One moment, Shiro was talking to the emphatic but respectful Galra soldier, and in the next—the figure before him grew larger, hulking, with thicker fur and a red glow burning in his round ocular implant. Shiro was being loomed over rather than faced. Shiro had conquered much of his fear of the commander, but in the sudden shift between one Sendak and another, he had no time to get his bearings and brace himself. The shock was like a wave of cold water washing over him. He felt it again: a near paralysis that overrode his instinct to escape.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing." The deeper voice was more controlled, but it was emotional in its own way. Disgust had twisted it, and hatred ran through it, making it difficult, but not impossible, to catch a trace of the younger Sendak's voice within the elder.

"I don't think that you do," said Shiro. Sendak might have guessed at some of his motivations, but Sendak didn't know him very well. What Shiro knew about _Sendak_ was that he was sure of himself, to the point of overconfidence.

"If you try to prey on my weaknesses, you'll find I don't have any."

Shiro held his ground. "I've seen that disproved firsthand."

Sendak leaned in, lowering his voice. If the Galra had been real, Shiro would have been able to feel the heat of Sendak's breath on his face. He half-imagined that he _did_ feel it. Had he been drawn closer to Sendak without realizing it? "I know what you want from me, Champion. I could give it to you."

Shiro said nothing, suddenly unable to trust his voice to remain steady. He couldn't remain in this situation. He had to take action. Clear his mind and focus. He was the one who held the real power in this situation, not the false Sendak.

"Look at you," Sendak continued. "So strong, and yet so pathetic that you come back to me."

There—Shiro could move again. He could control his arm. With a thought, Shiro sent his prosthetic arm toward the device. With a decisive strike, it hit the switch, powering down the equipment. Sendak—was immediately and completely gone.

In the brief time Shiro had been talking to Commander Sendak, his skin had taken on a thin covering of cold sweat. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself of the truth of the matter. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no danger. He was safe, yet in those few moments of panic, Shiro had received all the confirmation that he needed that something was still very wrong with Sendak's program. It was in no way behaving as it meant to. It might have been wisest to leave the device off for good and give up his experiment as a failure. Maybe all he was doing was reopening old wounds. Was there anything inherently wrong with leaving the past in the past? Would forgotten memories harm him that much if they remained buried?

And yet—Lieutenant Sendak was in there somewhere, wasn't he? Shiro couldn't bring himself to believe that that younger version was nothing but a ruse concocted by Sendak. He had seemed so authentic and individual. Shiro turned to glance at the spacecraft poster on the wall behind him. _He wanted to show me early Galra ships..._ All Shiro's instincts told him that that conversation had been genuine. The problem was, Shiro had no accurate way of determining where one Sendak ended and the other began.

Shiro turned to face the deactivated Altean machinery again. Large portions of his lost year in captivity remained lost, but he did remember certain crucial points. Most importantly, he knew that when he had been at his lowest, his most lost, someone had been there to help him. More than once, people had reached out to him. He hadn't been abandoned there, in the dark. "I can't leave him behind," said Shiro, to the empty room.


	3. Reinforcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro doesn't find it easy to adjust to his new roommate. He's plagued with strange dreams—which could be memories. He can't be sure if he's made the right choice, but when a sleepless night drives him into Sendak's room, the resulting encounter leaves him more determined to pursue his current course of action.

"Look at you." The rough voice speaking nearby roused Shiro from his long, fitful sleep. He could never attain true sleep—his body was too sore for that, and the floor he was obligated to sleep on was too unyielding. What he wouldn't give for one night in a bed, for smooth sheets, warm blankets, or a single pillow. Even the memory of the narrow, hard Garrison beds of his cadet days filled Shiro with longing—but following that line of thought and letting himself give in to a need for softness would make it more difficult to endure his current deprivation. In this case, fantasy was more of a drawback than an escape.

This was no time for reminiscing. Someone was speaking, and he needed to know what was happening. He had to remain as alert as possible in this place. Shiro opened his eyes the slightest amount, barely enough for him to make out vague shapes in the shadows. He wasn't going to give away the fact that he was awake, not yet. In sleep, he could ignore his tormentors, if only temporarily. There was a dark form looming at the door of his cell. Although the space between him and the shape looked open and clear, Shiro knew from experience that there was a force field between them which would give him a painful shock if he came into contact with it. This was not a standard cell, but some kind of strange observation cell they had recently placed him in. Apparently, he was interesting enough to warrant it. In this context, he didn't like being _interesting_.

"What a strange animal you are."

Shiro was used to this kind of commentary from the Galra, so he didn't react. He already knew what they thought of him. They didn't see him as a person. He was a performing beast to them. Not their equal, but a creature who existed to entertain them. He was successful at it. He had won their cheers. The sound disgusted him.

"It's obscene, the way you fight. Triumphing over Galra—your weak body shouldn't be capable of that. Not that you'd be able to survive a battle with a real warrior. These gladiators aren't true soldiers." 

Shiro raised his head at that. His eyes snapped all the way open, anger surging through him. "You mean, like you? I'd defeat you, too." He didn't know who this Galra was, but he was tired, and he had been pushed to his limits. Despite knowing better, he responded to the taunting. "That would be no trouble." Now that Shiro could see more clearly, he was aware of the glow emanating from the Galra who was addressing him. His eyes were glowing, gold, more brightly than the eyes of the other Galra he'd seen, as if power illuminated them from within. It was an odd light, almost eerie. By that glow, Shiro could see the Galra's face. It was heavily furred, almost feline, but with a squared jaw. The triangular ears framing his head swept upward, into slightly curled points.

"You speak out of turn," the Galra snapped. The Galra were fine with speaking to him as much as they wished, but not with being spoken to—if they didn't like what he had to say. Often, they'd ignore him or strike him, but this one did neither of those things. He continued to talk. "You're ailing, aren't you?" he asked. "Some primitive illness. So they've said."

Shiro didn't respond to this. It was no surprise to him. He knew he was ill. The Galra had on occasion subjected him to acts that might qualified as treatment. They had hauled him into a laboratory and subjected him to examinations, using equipment they didn't explain to him. Whatever they had done, he had been able to keep fighting, although his symptoms hadn't disappeared. As long as he could keep fighting, he would. He still had the intention of escaping and returning to warn Earth, no matter how far off and unlikely his achievement of that goal had become.

"Nothing to say now? How much longer do you'll think you'll last in the arena? It doesn't matter if you fight gladiators or real warriors. Your time is limited."

"If you're confused about why I keep defeating Galra, it's because you don't understand combat. Strength is more than brute force," said Shiro. "That's why I've been able to win. Why I'll keep winning. Against you or anyone else." They may have had the advantage, but Shiro wasn't about to let them see him give in. That was what they wanted, to watch him break. Even if they killed him, he wouldn't give them that satisfaction. 

The Galra came closer. Shiro could tell by his armor that he was of some importance, though Shiro wasn't entirely clear on the ranks and insignia of the Galra military. "I should have you punished for your insolence. I could have you killed."

Shiro didn't waver, even if he was being reckless and insolent. The Galra glared at him through the doorway, and Shiro met his gaze, silent.

"But I won't," the Galra concluded. "Because I enjoy watching you. Like I'll enjoy watching you die in the ring."

He was glad he could be so _enjoyable_. Was this some high-ranking officer who had used his influence to order his way down to the prisoners' cells to gawk at him, some twisted kind of _fan_? Shiro wasn't sure what to say to that, so again, he didn't say anything.

"You've defeated three Galra now. One of them was killed. No primitive gladiator has been able to do that before."

What an accomplishment, far from the kind he'd hoped to achieve. He had wanted to further human knowledge, human exploration, not kill aliens for someone else's amusement. Along with the Galra he'd defeated, there had been—others. Not Galra. Some had truly been animals: beasts who as far as he could tell were not sapient. Others had been prisoners like himself. It made him sick to think of that. He hated to harm any innocent creature. It had been against his own will, but he still felt responsibility for his own actions, for the lives he had taken.

"Do you know what they call you?" asked the officer.

Shiro didn't want to know what they called him. He would rather not know anything about it. He would prefer not to talk this Galra at all. Although—it suddenly occurred to him that this was the first Galra who had directly engaged him in conversation, as if he were a sentient being rather than another beast who was not worth speaking to, not even to question. It wasn't a _good_ conversation, and Shiro wasn't enjoying it, but it was novel. Why? Why was the Galra here, and not content to simply watch him from the stands?

"They call you Champion," the Galra said, leaning so close to the forcefield at the door that it looked like he was about to walk through it. The glow in his pupil-less eyes seemed to brighten, and the intensity of that gaze as it ran over him was so great, Shiro could almost feel its heat. 

It was the heat that awakened him, because it was stifling him. Shiro gasped and threw his covers back, exposing his throat and chest to the air. _Champion_. He hadn't said that word himself, but it had caught in his throat somehow. Struggling to catch his breath, Shiro gathered his thoughts, separating the real from the unreal. He was here. At the Garrison. He was free. The arena was far behind him. Shiro reached up to rest the back of his hand against his forehead. His skin was damp. He felt feverish. Was he getting sick? That might explain the intensity of what he'd experienced.

Shiro wasn't sure if that had been a dream or a flashback, or some hybrid of the two. It wasn't as if he'd never experienced flashbacks before. They still came to him, though they were less frequent and usually less intense than they once had been. Most of his memories of his captivity had been fractured, but there was always the possibility that some of them might return to him. Things that were lost were not necessarily lost forever.

Was that what that had been: a memory, returning to him? While he lost in the vision, he hadn't been aware of the identity of the Galra mocking him. Now that he was awake, he knew. It was Sendak. Of course it was Sendak. Who else would it have been? Though in his dream—or memory—Sendak had had no prosthetics, which didn't match with what he knew of the older version of him. Was that because Shiro was now familiar with the young Sendak, who had not yet lost his eye and arm? Young and old Sendak may have begun to merge in his subconscious, now that he was familiar with both of them. Whatever it was he had seen, he couldn't rely on it for accuracy. The mind could be deceiving. He knew that.

What troubled Shiro most was that it had felt real, so vividly real that he half-believed that it was.

Shiro rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes, attempting to will himself back to sleep. Sleep didn't come back for him. He was on his own. He was painfully aware of the fact that, in the next room, Sendak was waiting—or some remnant of Sendak that could take form and speak. If Shiro wanted to, he could talk to him at any time. The complication was that he didn't know which Sendak he would end up with, at any point.

Why was he doing this? To face his fears, yes, and to look for some resolution—at best, he would find answers to unanswered questions—but what else was making him persist in this? He shouldn't have sympathy for Sendak. Sendak had caused untold harm to so many people. How many had died in the attack on Earth? That sum, as great as it was, didn't account for all the other attacks, throughout the universe. Sendak was a murderer—his purifying flame had been created from pure violence. Shiro could give up on him at any time, without repercussions. The only thing he had to do was stop turning on the device.

Now, instead of dreams of Sendak, Shiro saw faces in the darkness. The faces of people he used to know, who were gone now. So many people had died, across so many planets. If Shiro had done things differently, there might have been less deaths, or at least a different series of battles. Different people would have died, and others would have been spared—

No. That thought wasn't helping him. If he started down that road, where would it take him? It would never end. Sometimes, he asked himself what would have happened if he'd killed Sendak earlier. He had wanted to. He could have had his vengeance then, if things had gone differently. The problem was that Shiro was far from sure that vengeance was something he'd wanted. What would vengeance have given him? He didn't even know for sure that his actions could have prevented what came later. He couldn't ever know who might have died or lived, if events had played out differently. It might be that nothing he could have done could have saved the people he had lost, whose faces he revisited so often in his memories. As he so often did, he pictured Adam.

He missed Adam, but that was understating the issue. He wouldn't ever stop missing him, no matter how long he lived. That was the case for anyone he'd shared a long-standing bond with, but especially Adam—who had been with him through his student days and into adulthood. For a significant portion of his life, there had been no one else closer to Shiro than Adam. He didn't have to wonder what Adam would tell him to do in this situation. He already knew. _Why do you push yourself so damn hard, Takashi? What are you heading toward? Sometimes, I ask myself where you think you're going._

They had had a number of similar conversations, especially near the end of their relationship. They had been far from agreeing on everything. Somewhere along the way, they had gained increasingly divergent priorities. When they'd first met, and when their friendship had become a romance, they'd wanted the same thing: the stars. Literally and metaphorically. _You can go easy on yourself, you know. Enjoy yourself. I'd like to spend more time with Takashi Shirogane. A long time._

Shiro opened his eyes. He and Adam hadn't parted on the best terms, but when he'd left on the Kerberos mission, he had believed that he could eventually repair their relationship, to an extent. He'd hoped that they could have become friends again. He'd have liked that. Now Adam was only a ghost, without any holographic representation of his memories stored on a machine. He would always be gone. Was that fair? No, it wasn't. Sendak was responsible for that. Shiro had to find a way to convince himself that _he_ wasn't also responsible.

Adam wouldn't have been able to understand why Shiro was doing this. He would have counseled him to deactivate the holographic generator permanently. Adam would have sensibly suggested that Shiro should take care of himself and continue his work with other injured and traumatized military personnel and civilians. Shiro had no shortage of tasks to occupy him. In addition to his efforts in assisting in others' rehabilitation, he was collaborating with a number of scientists on reverse engineering a new kind of prosthetic based on the design of his own, which could be reproduced efficiently enough to be made available to the public. That would do a great deal of good for a great many people. So much harm had been done that he felt driven to do as much good as possible.

Shiro told himself he should keep trying to sleep. He shouldn't be deterred by his initial failures. Shiro didn't listen to himself. Once he'd started to think about Adam, his chances of returning to a restful sleep were greatly reduced. Sendak's presence didn't help matters. Within a few minutes, Shiro found himself standing in the next room. _Sendak's room_. What an odd way to think of it. It was bizarre that _Sendak_ , of all people, now had a room in his quarters. Once Shiro had followed his impulses into Sendak's room, he leaned against the wall, studying the holographic generator and hesitating. Because he didn't have Pidge's talents, the only things he could do were turn it on, or turn it off, so his options were limited, but he waited. A full quarter of an hour passed before he finally straightened, walked across the floor to the device, and turned it on.

No one appeared. Where the hologram of Sendak would usually manifest, the machine produced only an empty field of light. Shiro frowned in confusion. The machine was definitely on. The power lights were lit. He'd followed the standard procedure. It appeared to be operating as usual, except that it wasn't generating the image of Sendak. Shiro's stomach twisted. Maybe he did have a fever, which had unsettled his sleep and given him bad dreams. He could still be dreaming, of the dark room and the eerie light. 

A vision filled Shiro's sight. He was in a cell again. He was trapped in the dark, boxed in by the shadows closing around him, while ahead of him, a purple light glowed, as if to summon him forward, out of the darkness. Shiro gasped. Although the vision was vague—lacking context or timing—it was accompanied by a distinct sense of dread. Shiro both wanted and feared to head toward that light. Beyond, he could sense a space opening up before him, representing a freedom from confinement, but also a terrible danger.

Shiro exhaled as the vision passed. Then, all he saw before him was the familiar device and the pale, bluish light it was generating, but his fear did not subside immediately. Shiro couldn't move. He could barely think. He could have double checked the switches and the power source and all the things Pidge had explained to him, but he stayed where he was. Time stretched out agonizingly, but Shiro couldn't have been standing there for more than a few seconds before the light flickered, and Sendak finally appeared.

It was the younger Sendak, with his wide and curious eyes. Good. Though some angry part of Shiro craved a confrontation with the harsh Commander Sendak, he was not currently in the mood to be insulted and goaded.

Sendak glanced from side to side in confusion, as if he had no memory of being turned off. He most likely didn't. "Captain? What happened?"

Shiro was slow to respond, still shaken. Sendak frowned. "It's dark. Why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

"Oh." Shiro looked down. He was still wearing his pajamas, currently consisting of a white t-shirt and soft, black pants with a drawstring at the waist. "Yes. I—I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I intended no disrespect." He should have considered that beforehand, but he hadn't been thinking clearly. The Galra were a formal people. Sendak probably wouldn't enjoy being visited by someone wearing pajamas.

"Something's wrong," said Sendak. "Has fighting broken out?"

"No. No, it's nothing like that." Shiro was at a loss to explain himself. He should have thought this through better. He didn't know what he wanted to say to Sendak—either this version of him, or the older, more unpleasant one. He had been drawn here by feeling, not forethought. "I couldn't sleep."

"What?" Sendak blinked. "Is this human discipline? I don't—" He must have been flustered, because he broke off and glanced to one side, pointedly not meeting Shiro's gaze as he scowled at the wall. "It's not acceptable."

"I do apologize. I wasn't thinking."

Sendak relaxed slightly. He allowed himself to look at Shiro again, his eyes critically narrowed, then searchingly studied the relatively empty room, his gaze lingering on its one decorative picture. "What facility am I being held in?" he asked.

"This is the Galaxy Garrison. It's an Earth military base."

"That's not what I mean. Is this building actually a medical facility?"

Shiro could see what Sendak was getting at. "No, it isn't. It's residential."

"I thought so. Why did you bring me here?"

"Because it's more personal. You were brought here for rehabilitation, but you don't need to be housed in a medical facility. There's no reason you can't live in a residence."

"Personal," said Sendak, weighing the word. "Do you reside here, too?"

"I do."

"Are you also being rehabilitated?"

"You could say that, yes." It was true. It was as accurate a term as any for the process he was now going through. Sendak was part of that, but whatever was left of Sendak also—seemed to genuinely need rehabilitating. Otherwise, why would there be two versions of him now, as if he had been split? Why had the generator hesitated before producing him, as if it was unable to decide which Sendak to display? "I'm recovering."

"From battle," said Sendak.

"That's right."

"This might work for your species, but a Galra can't be rehabilitated like this," said Sendak, his tone sharpening. "I can't move. I can't fight. Galra don't live this way. I keep—disappearing. Why does that happen?" Though his voice was harsh, Sendak's expression was softer than usual, his brow creased with worry and his eyes wide. Even in his younger guise, he was still a soldier, and this was the first time Shiro had seen him look so unsure and almost—sad. "You're the only one who comes to speak to me. Where are the other Galra?"

Galra did differ from humans in many respects. Psychology was one of them. A Galra, particularly a soldier, would need sufficient stimulation, suited to the species' needs. This situation would be extremely hard on any human, let alone a Galra warrior. Shiro had initially been thinking of their interaction in terms of what might help _him_ with his own recovery—because Sendak was a hologram, a fragment—but he was starting to see the situation differently, and to consider what might help Sendak. Sendak wasn't aware of his own nature now. He thought of himself as a whole and living person. It would have been cruel to ignore that. Shiro had already decided to assist him. He had to determine what the best way to do that would be, all while keeping in mind that Sendak might revert to his older self at any moment.

"It's a complicated issue," said Shiro, who continued to hate lying to Sendak, although he feared how Sendak would react to the full truth. "I'll explain the situation more thoroughly in time, I promise. But you're right. This isn't good enough for a Galra such as yourself. I know that. I'll find a way to remedy the problem, but it may take a little time."

"Do you mean that?"

"I do. I don't expect you to trust me yet, but I want to show you that I don't mean you any harm. I want to help you."

Sendak made a thoughtful noise. He was too perceptive for Shiro's lies to hold up for any significant length of time. He was younger than the Sendak Shiro had met in life, but he was an accomplished warrior who had likely won the admiration of his people and the respect of his emperor. Shiro couldn't underestimate him, any more than he could underestimate the older version of him.

Shiro changed the subject, hoping that a relatively casual topic might put Sendak more at ease. "Could you tell me something else about yourself? Were you born on Daibazaal? I'd like to know more about what it's like there." The Galra Empire, even in Sendak's time, had extended across multiple planets, though it had not been as violently expansionist, and from what Shiro understood, Zarkon had at one time reigned over a peaceful empire that maintained friendly relations with its allies. That seemed to be the era that this Sendak was from.

"Don't you know that? You said earlier that you're well-acquainted with me."

"I am, but only in a military context. We never had much time for personal conversation." That was a very mild way of stating the previous relationship between himself and Sendak, but technically, it was correct.

Sendak may or may not not have accepted this explanation, but he did answer the question. "I do reside on Daibazaal."

"I'd like to see it someday. What is it like?"

Sendak hesitated before offering his description, as if still wary of Shiro. When he did answer, his speech was more formal than conversational. "Daibazaal is a harsh planet. Water can be hard to find there. It often lies deep below the surface. The pole is frigid, and the dark side is more so. The nights are icy, and the the sun bakes the soil throughout the day, except in regions where the sun doesn't reach. The cities shine through the night, but the wildernesses can swallow you whole. Those who live on Daibazaal are strengthened by it. Its severity made the Galra what we are." He paused before adding, "If you are truly our ally, then you would be welcomed there."

Shiro was an ally of the Galra now; that hadn't been a lie. He nodded. "And where is it that you live, on Daibazaal?"

"I go where the emperor goes."

"Do you stay in the palace with him?"

"There are a number of imperial palaces, spread across the planet."

Sendak was being more forthcoming with him tonight, relatively speaking. Maybe showing up here in his pajamas had been a good idea, or possibly the pajamas had nothing to do with it. Sendak seemed to have been closer to the emperor than Shiro would have guessed. It was possible that in that era, the emperor had had a retinue of aristocratic Galra that accompanied him throughout his travels. It was interesting, but it also made Shiro more reluctant to tell Sendak about the emperor's fate—and he had already been reluctant. "I'd like to hear more about that someday, if you don't consider the information too sensitive."

"I could tell you some things. Someday." Meaning, Shiro assumed, if he someday decided that Shiro was worthy of more confidences. "You live at this Garrison?"

"Yes, much of my work is here. It's more convenient for me to stay here than live off base."

"There's no way I can see more of it?"

He was curious. That stood to reason. If Shiro had been living in a strange place, on a strange planet, he would have wanted to see more of it, too. "I can show you some images and video, but no, I can't move you right now."

Sendak made a frustrated noise, but it was a faint one. He recovered quickly, and Shiro could understand his impatience. Shiro was no Galra, but he would have felt distressed by the kind of confinement Sendak was dealing with, too. He knew from experience how confinement could wear on a person. Sendak's people may have once imprisoned Shiro, but he wouldn't wish that kind of suffering on anyone.

"I wish we could spar. I'd like to see you fight," said Sendak.

Shiro froze. He understood that Sendak probably meant the words in a sociable Galra way, as combat, both friendly and otherwise, played a large part in their society, but the phrase _I'd like to see you fight_ coming from Sendak had a chilling effect on him, icing his spine. He was facing no threat. He knew, and had been assured, that the hologram posed no danger to him, yet he felt afraid again.

"What's the matter, Captain?"

Shiro could tell from the tone of Sendak's voice that his reaction must have been not only visible, but so obviously negative that it had both registered with Sendak and concerned him enough for him to ask about it. "It's nothing. I was having trouble sleeping before, that's all." It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was all he could offer Sendak at this time.

"You look unwell," said Sendak. "That explains your lack of discipline. You should return to your bed."

"Should I?" Shiro was surprised to hear what sounded like an order coming from Sendak, not so much because it was an order as because it was concerned with his well-being. "Is that your official recommendation, Lieutenant?"

"I'm aware you outrank me, but—yes, it is, Captain. If you don't sleep properly, your work and your training will suffer."

This surprised a small smile out of Shiro. Was Sendak worried about him? Remarkably enough, this made him feel better. He nodded, still conflicted, but now on the more positive side thereof. "I won't ignore such a sensible recommendation." Now that he was about to leave, he faced an awkward social situation. The other times he had turned on the device, he had turned it off abruptly, when Sendak had shifted into his other self. "With your permission, I'll shut down the interface, so you can rest as well." Shiro had no precedent for asking if it was all right to turn someone off, but he was trying to be as mannerly about it as possible.

"Captain—wait."

"Yes? What is it, Lieutenant?" Calling Sendak by his rank did make a difference; as slight a change as it was, it helped him to differentiate this Sendak from the other one.

"Can you leave me—awake? I don't wish to disappear again."

Shiro hesitated, his hand an inch away from contacting the device. Leave it on? He wasn't sure if that was a good idea, especially when Shiro had no way of predicting when Sendak would shift into his older self. He also wasn't sure if the device was meant to be left running indefinitely. Operating it for long periods of time would take a fair amount of power, though the power usage was hardly his greatest concern. Not only did he have Sendak's darker side to contend with, but he was unsure about the psychological effects of leaving even this younger Sendak alone in this state. He was already frustrated by not being able to move freely. It might be hard on him to have to wait here, motionless, with only his thoughts for company. He wouldn't be able to turn himself off, if he changed his mind about being left active. He would need Shiro for that.

"I want to think," said Sendak. "I haven't had time to do that, since I came here."

Shiro's doubts aside, it wasn't an unreasonable request. Basically, he wanted to continue to exist. Shiro was too worn down to deny him, especially when Sendak's expression softened again, into one of entreaty. Could Shiro really deactivate someone who was asking him not to do so? He didn't feel capable of that. Certainly not tonight. All right. He could think of it as an experiment. He could see what would happen if the device was left on for an extended period of time. Pidge hadn't told him not to leave it running for hours—although it was possible she had thought that that was so obvious, a warning wasn't necessary. It was too late to contact Pidge and ask her about it now. If he checked it first thing in the morning, it would probably be fine. If it caused too much of an energy drain, he'd find some way to make up for the additional use of resources. "All right. I'll be back in a few hours—vargas. At ease, Lieutenant."

Shiro returned to bed, as Sendak had "ordered" him, but he didn't find it so easy to return to sleep. He was still worried about leaving the device on, but he had made that decision, and he would have to wait until morning to see the result. After his conversation with Sendak, he was more determined to help him in some way, but he didn't have any solid idea of how to progress. One thing Sendak had said had struck him—all of the times he'd been activated, he'd only seen Shiro, who, from Sendak's perspective, was an alien from a previously unknown species. Was there a person, any person, who would be more familiar to him, who might be able to help him?

Shiro turned the question over in his mind, wondering who he could ask for assistance with this project. Keith crossed his mind, but the thought of what Keith would say if he knew that Shiro had brought Sendak back and moved him into his quarters—well, as deeply fond as Shiro was of Keith, he didn't want to deal with that confrontation yet. He also didn't want to worry Keith when he was so far away and so busy with his work. So not Keith. What Galra, among those who were on good terms with Earth, would be able and willing to aid someone who had brought so much misery to their people? There had to be someone who could show Sendak compassion and reassure him in some way. Shiro knew he wouldn't be able to find a perfect person for the role, but there had to be at least an adequate one. 

At last, as Shiro was on the verge of sleep, a name came to him, in answer to his question. _Of course_ , he thought, as a surge of relief washed warmly over him at the thought that there was something else he could try. _That's who I'll ask_. With that hope now ahead of him, he slipped away into a deep, unconscious restfulness. He had no more dreams.


End file.
